Booster Gold #12 - The Other Lies

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Author: ScarecrowSid

Book: Booster Gold

Arc: ★Society

Set: 12

★ Now

    “Great to have you back, Booster,” said Marshall Specter, flashing his smile that had too many teeth. “I’m sorry you couldn’t make it into the studio tonight, but I’m glad you could find the time to chat with us.”

    Booster stood in the moonlit night, illuminated by it and the spotlight Skeets had provided. Behind him, the night sky was sprinkled with the skyline of the city. Golden points of light flickered across the high rises.

    “Happy to be on, Marshall,” Booster replied. “I’m sorry about having to run off last time. League business, I’m sure you understand.”

    “Sure, sure,” Specter said. “Heroics come first, I understand.”

    “Glad you do.”

    “You called it ‘League business’,” Specter began, “Don’t you mean ‘Alliance business?’”

    “No,” Booster replied flatly. “Despite what Ron Troupe and the Daily Planet think, they can’t name our organization. We’re the Justice League.”

    “Sure, sure,” said Specter. “So...what’s new?”

    “Not much…”

★★ Now

    Hub City sprawled out for miles in either direction of the river, kissing Chicago on one end and grazing Midway City on the other. Reilleau Tower, often called one the most luxurious office buildings, was symptomatic of city gentrifying so rapidly that anyone south of the top tax bracket was squatting along the East Bank. It was a sad state but, for once in his life, Booster wasn’t on the poor side of things. That was something to be thankful for, if nothing else.

    The Tower was home to his company, Goldstar Incorporated, and had been for nearly two years. It was late enough that his top floor suite of offices was emptied of its, usually stark, staff. He took a seat at his desk, scoffing softly as one of the wheels squeaked something sharp and high as it rolled back.

    He’d brought very few things back with him from the 25th-century, and fewer still were in his office. There was a veritable arsenal of the artifices of super heroics hidden away, far from any prying eyes. There were knickknacks and devices aplenty, though most were a matter of convenience in this savage century. And lastly, there were memories. Memories like those that adorned the span of his desk.

    He glanced at the photos of himself and Michelle, pulled tight into an embrace by their mother. Booster’s childhood-self had recoiled from the pinched cheeks and smudges of lipstick, worried more about looking cool than enjoying his family. He had always worried about looking cool, it was a flaw he didn’t regret, but photographs rarely tell the whole story. His scrunched up expression made it seem like he didn’t want to be there, but nothing was further from the truth.

    Booster held up the polaroid of himself, Ted, and Michelle and stared at it. On the far left of his desk sat the most recent photograph of Booster and his sister, from just days before he had departed that century for this one. He enjoyed having prints set in frames and resting atop his desk, it was retro. The third member of that particular scene suffered from a curious case of his face being crossed out with a wide-tipped black marker. It wasn’t as if Chip deserved any better, and Booster hardly wanted to stare at that face all day.

    He compared the two photographs. Michelle was certainly older in the polaroid, her face had lost the roundness of youth and taken on a more lean, more weathered set. There were smile lines on either side of her face, and Ted was sporting a patch of stubble. The Other Booster Gold had told his story and he had listened, but it was still too far-fetched to believe.

    “Skeets,” Booster began, “We need--”

    He was interrupted by a loud, abrupt screech of static from all around. The screens along his wall blinked to life, each displaying a hollow triangle. Every vertex bled green light, unfocused and bright as they the thrummed static.

    “What’s happening?” Booster asked.

    “I don’t know, sir,” Skeets replied, hovering toward the nearest screen. “It would appear we’re receiving some sort of broadcast…”

    “Can. You. Hear. Me?” the screens asked. Their voice, if it could be called that, was distorted and varied in pitch. Each word was spoken by a different tongue, wildly varying from the one that preceded it. It was what he would have expected a ransom note crafted of different voices to sound like, mismatched and erratic. “I. Can. See. You.”

    “Yes, I can hear you,” Booster replied, eyes narrowed on the screens.

    “Who. Is. He?” the screens asked in unison. An image of the Other Booster Gold, all clad in black, appeared on the screen. He was standing on a rooftop, staring at a Gargoyle leaning over its precipice. The caption below read: ‘Gotham City, 2015.’ Another photo appeared, this time with the Other Booster Gold skulking in an alleyway, the caption read: “Central City, 2016.”

    The series of images that followed displayed the Perforated Man at various points in time, so many that each screen began displaying independent of the others. Gotham City, 2016. National City, 2014. Smallville, 1967. Hub City, 1912. San Francisco, 2016. Berlin, 1944. Rome, 1943. Metropolis, 2015… it went on for nearly five minutes.

    “What. Is. He?” the screens asked, displaying their image. “I. Don’t. Understand.”

    “What business is it of yours?” Booster replied, scowling. “What the hell are you?”

    “I. Want. To. Learn,” it replied. “Tell. Me. How.”

    Booster Gold took a step toward the screen and stared at each image. They were all different. Some were satellite imagery, others came from surveillance cameras. Some appeared to be cell phone footage. There was no pattern to the images, aside from their containing the Other Booster Gold.

    An aggregation of images like this was odd, it would require the endeavors of an agency. A group with the resources and time to sift through millions of frames of footage and find what they were looking for. If such an agency existed, why would they arrange this game? Why not come in person?

    “Tell me who you work for and I’ll tell you who he is,” Booster stated.

    “You. First.”

    “No,” Booster replied. “Tell me who you work for.”

    “No. One,” the voice replied. “Your. Turn.”

    “Liar,” Booster said.

    “I. Do. Not. Tell. Lies.”

    “Who do you work for?” Booster asked again.

    “No. One,” it repeated.

    Paranoia set in. Perhaps this ruse was a distraction, was someone coming for him? It wouldn’t be beyond their capabilities if they had managed to track him back to his office. His secret, at least, was compromised. His index finger found and traced itself along the cool metal bangle upon his wrist.

    He glanced at Skeets, the back at the screen. Sorting through and collating that amount of information would take the faculties of a whole host of men and women, all working tirelessly and for long hours...or one intelligence. The thought struck him, he stared at the screen, stunned. An intelligence? Surely it was too soon for something like this. He may not have been the most diligent student of history, but the earliest advances in Artificial Intelligence came in the later half of the 21st century. Nothing this advanced could exist in this day and age, nothing except for...

    “Skeets,” Booster said. “We need to go.”

    “Tell. Me,” the screens stammered. “How. Does. He. Do. It.”

    “Sir?”

    “We need to go, now,” Booster insisted. He recalled the Other Booster Gold’s instructions and held his hand out, triggering the bangle and creating a gateway to concentric light. The building around him rocked softly as he stepped through. “I have no desire to that fight that thing.”

★★★ Then - May 12th, 2462

    “Michael. Wake up.”

    Michael felt the hair on the back of his head tugged, violently, to raise his eyes to meet the voice. He glared at his father, Jonar, through unfocused eyes, fighting the urge to vomit. Successive blows to his abdomen, spine, and arms had rendered them useless.

    “I can’t believe you would try to screw me like this,” Jonar said. “After all I’ve done for you.”

    Another kick toppled Michael onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling. They were back in the Deck, celebrating their successful theft. The crew was lined on either end of the wall, the youngest among them gathered around Michael pouring out their beers over him. He winced as new pain flared through the cuts along his face.

    “Fuck you,” Michael spat.

    “He’s tough, isn’t he?” Jonar mused. “Shame he picked the wrong side.” Jonar stood over Michael, smirking. “Did you really think you could screw us? Someone get this boy up and on a chair.” He looked away from Michael, toward a far off corner of the room. “Bring in the other one.”

    Michael was hoisted to his feet and set atop an aluminum chair, his arms were tied behind his back with deft precision by a younger, snarling member of the Flush. The boy stomped on both of Michael’s feet before stepping away, sneering.

    Across from him, two burly members of the Flush, one bald and muscled and the other rotund and bearded, dragged in a mass of black armor. Michael’s jaw would have dropped, had it not already hung loose and swollen, as he saw the Batman. His armor was shorn in places, exposing wire and circuits drenched by blood, and his cowl was scarred and dented from what must have been a violent fall. It remained in place, however, despite the obvious trauma sustained over what must have been a long, arduous series of beatings. His own bruises were nothing compared to what the Batman must have endured.

    “See,” Jonar began. “We figured out a while back that someone was tipping off the Bat, so we started keeping track of who was around when things went sideways. I took me a while to settle on you, Mikey,” he sighed, “I guess it’s my trusting nature.” He smirked sideways at Michael.

    “Is he…” Michael asked, already aware of the answer.

    “As a doornail,” Jonar answered. “A friend from Gotham sent me something that works against these suits. Shut him down and he fell right off the roof.” The room chuckled. “You should have seen it, Mikey.” He whistled, then shot all the fingers on both hands out as he said, “Splat!”

    Michael felt his heart quicken to the point it felt ready to burst from his chest. There was no escaping this situation, not that he could see. They would kill him, or worse, before the night was over.

    “After that,” Jonar continued, “We had a little fun with the rat bastard. It turns out that no matter how much armor they wear, but if you shake them enough…well, things break.”

    Michael wasn’t sure what spurred him forward. It may have been a misguided sense of justice. It may have been simple rage. It may even have been the desire do something before he died. Regardless of the reason, he found his feet and hoisted himself up, leaning forward, and charged headfirst at his father.

    His teeth crunched as he headbutted his father, his own forehead striking the old man’s temple. Jonar reeled, shouting profanities in quick succession. Michael’s own head spun as hands grasped at him, the various members of the Royal Flush crowded around him and struck wildly.

    Between blinding spurts of pain and feeble attempts at escape, a smile crept upon Michael’s face. Beaten to death trying to avenge the Batman, it would have been a fitting end to his joke of a career. At least he’d done something good in the end.

    There comes a point where you stop feeling pain, a point where the shock of being clubbed sets in and you fail to notice your bones breaking or your organs being struck. A point where you’re in so much pain you can’t process it. Michael approached that point, feeling cold. His eyes were heavy, his heart slowed.

    The final moments before everything went black, he saw a brilliant red light burn above. It tore through the ceiling and swallowed everything in sight. Michael smiled contentedly, lulled from consciousness by the smell of smoke rising around him.

★★★★ Then - May 15th, 2462

    Michael inhaled sharply, pangs of pain through his chest as he did. A mixed feeling of dread and relief coursed through him, quickly followed by the bleary beads of light overhead. He had not expected to wake up, and now that he had, he wondered where he was.

    Prison? he thought. It would make sense, and it wasn’t like he deserved any less.

    “Mikey.” The voice was soft, sweet, and familiar. His eyes followed the sound and settled on the relieved, tear-stained face of his baby sister standing at his bedside. One of her hands rested upon his face, cool against his seared skin.

    “You look like hell,” Michael mumbled. It was quite an accomplishment, given the amount of swelling. He managed a grin and winked with what he assumed was now his good eye, as the other failed to respond.

    Michelle’s lips twisted into a half-smile she had carried from childhood, a sign that Michael was both irritating and amusing her. What would follow would be wit, perhaps a scathing comment or two. None came.

    “I’m glad you’re okay,” she replied softly.

    Michael tried to move his neck but failed. Well, when you’ve been beaten to a pulp, the chances of ever moving again were small. Medicine could only do so much, he would need time to heal.

    “What happened?” he asked.

    “Dad’s in jail,” Michelle answered.

    “Good,” Michael muttered. “I hope he rots.”

    She frowned at him. “Mikey,” she began, “someone wanted to talk to you.”

    “Who?” Michael asked. Michelle didn’t reply, instead, she nodded toward the other side of his bed. Michael’s eyes drifted in that direction, slightly wincing against the bright light of the window. There was no one on that side of the room. Michelle walked around the bed and approached the window’s control panel. She tapped it and gears beneath slowly loosed and slid it open. A cool breeze swept into the room, the fresh air was invigorating.

    “I’ll be outside while you talk,” Michelle said. She approached Michael and brushed his hair away from his forehead before stepping out, smiling down at him. “Try not to piss him off,” she added as she crossed the room. The door closed behind her, clicking softly into place.

    Michael stared at the window from the corner of his eye. A dark figure floated through it and into the room, a soft tap signaled its landing. From the corner of his eye, all Michael could see was the skin fitting black suit and silver cuffs atop each wrist. The man’s broad chest and the stylized silver ‘S’ emblazoned across it was all the introduction he needed.

    “Hello, Michael,” he said. “It’s good to see you awake.”

    “Hi, Superman.”

★★★★★ Now

    “Sir, we should investigate the incident,” Skeets insisted. “If we were hacked, we need to track down the culprit.”

    “Neither you nor I are equipped to handle that thing,” Booster lamented. “We have our own mission, we need to go back and clean up our mess.”

    “His mess,” Skeets replied.

    “He’s me, that makes it my mess too,” Booster said, sighing. “I’ll come up with a plan for that thing when I get back. For now we need to go get Ted and send the Super-powered Nazis back to their own world, otherwise, there won’t be much of a future.”

    The Perforated Man’s lair was wide, confusing, and filled with an innumerable number of mysterious objects. In time Booster hoped to examine them all, but, for now, he needed to remain focused. He approached the central terminal of a wide supercomputer that would have been more at home in a work of science fiction than a secret lair in an undisclosed location. Booster produced a blue data key and placed it into the console, it hummed to life and flashed a message.

    Welcome, Booster Gold.

    “Home, sweet home.”

    Booster spun and was greeted by a holographic projection standing in the center of the room. It was the mirror image of himself, despite a few personal touches to the uniform and a slight difference in the way it wore its hair. Booster smiled at the hologram, which smiled in return.

    “Hello,” the hologram said. “If you’re seeing this, Michael, I’ve revealed everything to you. All my secrets are now yours, and with them come my responsibilities. This new timeline is yours, not mine, and so I must trust you deal with its problems. This projection of my thoughts is designed to serve as your guide, I’ve linked it to Kelex’s mainframe and it has full knowledge of my history and my resources. Please inquire at your leisure.”

    “I need a Time Sphere,” Booster said.

    The hologram grinned, “Sure, I can help you with that. Follow me.”

★★★★★★ Now

    Booster followed the hologram down several sets of stairs until they reached a level marked ‘B-3’. The doors slid open with a hiss, revealing a scantily decorated room containing a sole Time Sphere.

    “This is the Time Sphere, Mark IV,” the hologram said, leading Booster toward the ship. The exterior was not made of the same kind of translucent, glass-like shell that his own Time Sphere had been. It was instead made from some kind of metal he could not quite identify, dark in some places and light in others. A moment later, Booster realized the darker areas were scorched and the lighter areas were scuffed.

    “Looks like she’s been through the wringer,” Booster remarked. “Will she fly?”

    “Yes,” the hologram said. “But I haven’t needed her help for a long time.”

    “Yeah,” Booster replied. “Unprotected time travel did wonders for your complexion.”

    The hologram grinned. “Good luck.”

    Booster nodded, then stepped past the hologram as it blinked out of sight. He approached the Time Sphere and ran his hands along outside of the doorway molded around the entrance. According to the the Perforated Man, Ted would be in Northern Italy by the middle of 1944 and marching on Rome. It wasn’t an exact location, but some information was better than none. The additional threat posed by the Fourth Reich would need to be dealt with before he could return home, lest another diverging timeline be created (or so his counterpart claimed). All in all, it seemed that cleaning up this mess had fallen on him somehow. On top of all of that, he also needed to keep the rest of the League from discovering the truth about the other Michael. Secrets, lies, and no small measure of deception. He was off to a great start for this section of his career.

    “Well, Skeets, let’s go save the f*cking world,” Booster sighed.

    “Aye aye, sir!” Skeets exclaimed.

    “Aye aye? Are we pirates now?” Booster asked. “Whatever, I’ll drive.”

    “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

    “It’ll be fine.”

★★★★★★★ Now

    The Perforated Man sat in his cell, or rather his tomb, and stared at the walls. Michael had been kind enough to supply a single lantern and a pack of AA batteries. Living in darkness would have driven him mad in time, he was grateful for the brief relief the light offered.

    He felt, more than sensed, the ripple as his younger counterpart left the timeline on his latest journey. Everything was new now. Everything was different.

    “I cut it close,” he mused, looking down at his hands. A faint, orange light misted from them, glowing softly. He smirked as the light faded away, leaving only the emaciated hands. “But I did it…”

    There was dignity in dying with your mission accomplished, Ted and Michelle...they would have been proud.

★★★★★★★★ Now

    The Time Sphere rattled violently as it propelled itself through jagged, temporal waves. This trip was different, not quite the smooth passage Booster had hoped for. The consoles within the Sphere flashed warnings as he tumbled across the deck.

    “Skeets!” Booster shouted. “What the hell is happening?”

    “I think we’re crashing, sir,” Skeets replied as he skidded across the floor. “I suggest we--”

    The drone’s reply was cut short by a sudden plunge that sent him sailing to the roof above. Skeets bounced off the ceiling of the Sphere several times as Booster hung on to the captain’s chair for dear life. They were falling now, whether that meant they were falling out of the timestream or falling to earth, he couldn’t say.

    The Sphere came to a grinding, hard halt. It seemed that they had landed.

    Booster forced himself to his feet and approached the console, clearing the alert notifications away to access the external feed. He needed to assess the damage, and he hoped it wouldn’t be too severe.

    “As long as there isn’t a big hole in the side of it,” Booster muttered. He brought up the external feed, scratching his chin. “Well, this could be trouble...”

    Just below the Time Sphere, a red cape fluttered in the wind.

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